When you stand on a stage with a microphone, people assume you’re always the strongest person in the room. They don’t always see the conversations that happen when the lights go off – the ones where you whisper, “Did I give too much of myself away again?”
I’ve been that woman who pours out everything – time, energy, money, prayers, late-night encouragement – until there’s not much left for the girl in the mirror. And because I’m a singer, it felt spiritual to call it “sacrifice”.
Love is not the same as erasing yourself
One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that you can love people deeply and still say, “No, this part is not okay for me.” Boundaries are not punishment, they’re clarity. They give your “yes” more power because it’s coming from a whole, honest place.
You are allowed to be soft and still have a spine.
God is not asking you to trade your voice for peace.
These days I pay attention to the little signals: the tightness in my chest when a conversation keeps circling the same wound, the way my creativity shuts down when I’m constantly explaining myself, the fatigue that doesn’t go away after sleep.
What I’m practising now
Here are a few small practices I’m holding onto in this season:
- Saying what I feel before I explode.
- Listening to people who love me enough to tell me the truth.
- Allowing myself to be loved back – not just as “Waje the artist”, but as Aituaje the human.
If any of this sounds familiar, I want you to know you’re not dramatic, you’re not “too much”, and you’re not asking for anything strange when you ask to be treated with care. You are a whole person, not background music.
My prayer is that as you listen to the songs, you also hear the invitation behind them: to show up fully, to love honestly, and to remember that your voice deserves space in every room you walk into.